


Unfinished

by Rumloke



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Angst, Basically just a one shot whump fic, Bromance, Fever, Fluff, Hannibal genuinly cares for Will, Have a sick Will as a treat, Hurt/Comfort, Suicide Attempt, Vomiting, Whump, and it's nice, bruising and cruising
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:42:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29267430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rumloke/pseuds/Rumloke
Summary: Jack brings a rather sick Will to a crime scene, unaware of what effects the brutal homicide might have on a Will, who is already having problems distinguishing dream from reality...One-shot with room for a follow up chapter (for some Hannibal and Will fluff).
Comments: 15
Kudos: 43





	Unfinished

**Author's Note:**

> This whump fic contains: Fever, vomiting, anxiety, suicidal themes. Will as the whumpee, and everyone else as caretakeers (mainly Hannibal). 
> 
> Time period: Season 1, probably between episode 10 and 11.

There was a firm knock on the car window, making Will recoil as if someone just had poked the back of his scalp. He looked around, temporarily disoriented. He didn't recognize his surroundings, and he had no idea where he was. Will felt a searing, familiar feeling of panic grow in his chest when another knock made him turn his head. He noticed Jack standing outside the car, watching him. When Will didn't move Jack reached out a hand and opened the car door. “Hey? You ready?”

Will exhaled slowly and rubbed his eyes. “...Where are we exactly?”

“The amusement park,” Jack answered dryly. “Hurry up and get out. The body was discovered only three hours ago. I know how you prefer them fresh.”

Will looked up at Jack with bleary eyes. “Whose body...?”

Jack's expression was the opposite of an amusement park. “The body of Eugene Greene. I briefed you on the way here.”

“I'm sure you did,” Will replied in a muffled voice as he rested his head heavily in his hands.

Jack studied the younger man before him, but didn't say anything. He had woken Will up at 7 AM, not requesting as much as demanding him to accompany Jack to the crime scene. Will had greeted him half asleep, sporting nothing more than a pair of gray boxers and a loose, white t-shirt. The major portion of it had been covered in sweat. Jack had thought little of it at the time, and simply told him to meet him in the car once he had changed.

In the car, Will had barely said a word. Jack had taken the time to inform him about the case, but Will had been unusually quiet. He had eventually dozed off in his seat. Feeling a little bad for waking him, Jack had let him sleep the rest of the way. None of these things worried him though. He was used to Will being a rather silent traveling companion. But he was not used to him being a forgetful one.

“Do you have an aspirin?” Will suddenly asked and coughed slightly.

“Not on me,” Jack replied, his hands in his pockets and a wary look at Will. “Ask Beverly.”

“No, no, that's okay,” Will sighed before falling back in his seat. “I'd probably need something stronger anyway.”

Jack frowned at the comment and kept observing Will. “How much stronger are we talking here?”

“Never mind,” Will mumbled and reluctantly unbuckled his seatbelt, unwilling to leave the comfy car. “I'll manage. I tend to do.”

As Will attempted to leave his seat, Jack suddenly put a hand on his shoulder and firmly pushed him back down. Will looked up at him in surprise and was met with a pair of stern eyes. “Will, I need you to be honest with me,” Jack said. “Can you do this right now?”

“Well I have to, don't I?” Will answered with a rueful smile. “I got dressed and everything.” Will got up from his seat again, shivering involuntarily when he stepped out in the cold air. “You said the victim's name was... Eugene?”

“Eugene Greene,” Jack confirmed, still not entirely pleased with the situation, but decided to leave the matter for the benefit of the investigation. “The neighbor called local PD early this morning reporting a 'loud noise' from Mr Greene's residence.”

“You said they found the body three hours ago,” Will said and checked his watch, his expression perplexed. “What was the neighbor doing up at 5 AM...?”

“The woman is 92 years old,” Jack replied. “With an abundance of free time and preciously little hobbies it seems... Sergeant Larson from the local PD shared that she calls them every week. Last time, she claimed that Mr Greene was smuggling refugees.”

“Was he?” Will asked curiously.

“No, he wasn't,” Jack answered. “He did however have about three dozen guests attending his 60th birthday party at the time. At least according to the reports from fifteen armed policemen who showed up at the door step, asking to search the house.”

Will managed a faint smile as they passed the police cars. He noticed that Brian Zeller, Jimmy Price and Beverly Katz were standing next to one of the cars, fiercely discussing something. If they weren't in the house, it meant that they had already cleared the crime scene for him. Will would be all alone with his thoughts. Except, it wouldn't just be his thoughts.

Will swallowed as they got closer to the house. He noticed a faint taste of metal in his saliva. Jack was somehow alerted to his friend's change in demeanor and glanced at his friend. “You okay?”

“How did the culprit break in?” Will asked, and tried to swallow down another cough.

“He didn't,” Jack replied. “Local PD says the door was unlocked when they got here. The keys were even left in the keyhole.”

“So the killer stole Mr Greene's house keys and then just... waited?” Will asked and looked at Jack.

“It would appear so,” Jack said. “The killer must have stolen them recently, or Mr Greene would have had the time to change the lock.”

“Not necessarily,” Will said as they stopped right outside the door. “This place is almost as reclusive as mine. If I couldn't find my keys, I would just assume that I had dropped them. Not that someone had taken them on purpose. I'd probably just keep using my spare.”

“You're a serial killer's dream, Will,” Jack said with a grin.

“I catch serial killers for a living, and I'm inconveniently good at it,” Will said with a rare chuckle. “I don't think I would be in their dreams. I also probably have too many dogs for their liking.”

“Maybe if Mr Greene had gotten himself one of those, this night would have turned out differently for him,” Jack pondered. He opened the door and made a chivalrous gesture to Will to enter first, but Will hesitated. He seemed lost in thought and then turned to Jack. “How did you say he died...?”

Jack studied him. “Do you want the details, or would you like to be surprised?”

Will sighed and rubbed his eyes. “I'm not sure... I think half my brain is still asleep.” Will looked at Jack again with wary eyes. “How gruesome are we talking here?”

“Depends,” Jack said and put a hand on Will's shoulder, guiding him inside. “Are you religious?”

“Are you?” Will asked without batting an eye.

“Less now than I used to be,” Jack answered honestly as he headed for the stairs. “And I wasn't a very good Christian to begin with.”

They walked up the staircase until they reached a door that presumably lead to a bedroom. Jack pulled down the handle, but didn't open it. He glanced at Will. “You ready?”

Will nodded and involuntarily swallowed again. The taste of iron was still there. He felt how his muscles tensed up, like a rabbit feeling the scent of blood. Jack finally pushed the door open and Will's eyes were immediately drawn to the floor. And that was where they stayed.

On the wooden floor was a large cross, drawn with white chalk. The corpse was carefully displayed on top of it. Arms stretched out and legs together. The hands and the feet were impaled by massive, iron nails. Crucifying the man to the floor boards. Large pools of blood under his extremities indicated that the heart had still been beating when each nail had been hammered into place.

Blood was covering most of the face, like red melted wax. His mouth was slightly ajar and his eyes half closed. The gaze was dead and misty gray. A pair of goat horns were protruding from the forehead, like two sprouting flowers with roots running deep inside the brain. Some of the insides seemed to have been removed to make room for the macabre outgrowths, as chunks of brain matter and pieces of skull were scattered around the room.

The body was naked. Every piece of clothing that could humanize it had been cut away from his body, probably while still nailed to the floor, and then discarded in the corner of the room. Shredded to nothing more than bloodstained rags.

Will's eyes were transfixed on the scene in front of him and he flinched when he felt Jack put a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Anything you can give us would be highly appreciated,” Jack told him. “It's been a while since my last satanist.”

“Satanist?” Will said and blinked. “No, no... This wasn't done by someone who worships the devil.”

Jack looked at Will and then glanced at the floor. After a moment, he looked back at Will. “Are you sure about that?”

“A satanist wouldn't do this, Jack,” Will claimed and eyed the body. “This is... Anger. Vengeance, even. Whoever did this despised Mr Greene and was hellbent on displaying that hatred so that everyone else could see it too.”

“Hellbent...?” Jack said with a raised eyebrow.

“No pun intended.”

“Right,” Jack muttered and folded his arms. “Look, Mr Greene used to be a priest. And you are telling me that this was not done by someone with a grudge against God?”

“I don't know,” Will admitted and dragged a hand idly through his hair. “There's the cross, the crucifixion, the...”

“Horns?” Jack suggested helpfully.

Will rubbed the back of his neck. “I'm not saying that this isn't biblical, Jack. I just don't think that the killer was a big fan of the Dark Lord either... He crucified him, for god's sake. Quite literally.”

Will walked further inside and circled the victim. His eyes were reading every letter of the scene written before him, twice. “I need more to go one,” Will said in a low voice while studying the body. “What evidence have you found so far?”

“Not much. We have it confirmed that the time of death corresponds with when the neighbor called in about the noise.”

“Cause of death?”

“Inconclusive. They won't know for sure until they move the body,” Jack gave Will a look. “So try not to contaminate this one, okay? Or the forensics won't let me hear the end of it.”

“I'll try...” Will muttered, and covered a cough with his hand. His eyes were fixed on the horns.

Jack noticed what Will was looking at and stepped inside.“They wanted to remove the horns to see if the brain damage was enough to kill him,” Jack informed. “But I asked the team to leave them in until you had seen it.”

“How considerate.”

“They did however find a puncture wound in the neck, so he was probably drugged before the whole show started.”

“And probably alive during it...” Will pointed out while observing the puddles of blood. He then took a deep breath and felt how the tension, which had earlier been squeezing his body dry, slowly loosened its grip. “Would you give us a minute?”

Jack nodded and backed out of the room. “I'll be right outside the whole time. If you need anything, you just let me know, okay?”

Will raised an eyebrow at his friend. “Do I look like I need a parent?”

“Do you really want me to answer that question?” Jack stated and closed the door behind him.

Will closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, deflating his body and mind. He imagined a pendulum in his mind, wiping the crime scene clean with every swing. An ambient pulse was echoing in the back of his head as he could feel himself sinking...

* * *

I invite myself inside with the key I took. Not a sound. He will not know about my presence until I want him to.

I feel powerful.

In charge.

I know where my display will be.

...My design.

He is sleeping when I find him. This benefits me as I inject him with a paralyzing agent. I need him alive, but inanimate.

The intrusive pain wakes him up. I press him down in the bed, using my body weight and strength until the drug takes effect. He stops moving. I start pulling him down from the bed and to the floor.

I start drawing. I chalk his symbol. His faith. I am taking what is his and stripping it of its holiness. He does not deserve peace. He does not deserve forgiveness. Not in life, nor in death.

I place his body and limbs accordingly. I grab the tools that I have brought with me. Crucifying him to the floor. One nail at the time. Every strike with the hammer leaves another crack in his mask. Fracturing it, exposing his true, ugly form. Like a vile cocoon revealing a killer bee.

I will help them understand.

The drug does not silence the sounds coming from his throat. He's choking on saliva while silently screaming in pain whenever a nail sinks a little deeper into his flesh. The soft tissue makes it easy. Sometimes I can feel the nail hitting bone.

I take my knife and start cutting away his clothes. I'm shredding the bloodstained fabric to pieces, like a shedding snake. It's appropriate, somehow. I'm removing every trace of humanity from him. Leaving only the essence of his being.

The monster.

I watch his naked, bloodied body. He still looks human. I will change that. I need to show his true form. I kneel next to his head. His eyes won't stop staring at me. Large. Round. Leaking with terror.

He does not deserve forgiveness.

I start the drill...

* * *

Jack checked his wrist watch again. He sighed and put his hands in his pockets, looking a lot like he was waiting for his wife to hurry up and get done in the clothing store. The door to the bedroom suddenly opened and Will emerged. He slowly left the room, not bothering to close the door behind him. He was significantly paler than before, which was nothing less than an achievement.

“What have you got for me, Will?” Jack wanted to know.

“A headache...?” Will said and rubbed his left temple. “I think I need some fresh air-”

“Hey, I need you to stay focused here,” Jack told him and snapped his fingers. “You've seen the crime scene. Did you get any readings that we can use?”

“I-I'm not sure,” Will said, and closed his eyes tightly before covering them with both hands. “I'm sorry, my mind is... Boiling. It's like I can feel my thoughts evaporate before I get a chance to look at them.”

“I need you to _try_ , Will,” Jack said gravely. “Any non-evaporated thoughts on this killer?”

“...I don't know.”

“Are we looking at a serial killer or just a one timer?”

“I don't know.”

“Will, I need to know if he's going to kill again. Can't you at least see that-”

“No, I cannot!” Will snapped.

In the precise time it takes to blink once, Jack's expression changed. His posture changed. His very brain chemistry altered. The FBI agent was radiating an energy of something large and lethal. Will on the other hand suddenly felt incredibly aware of the size difference between them both, and instinctively looked down in a submissive away. Like his dogs would do whenever Will raised his voice.

Jack took a step closer to Will, making the other man lean away from him slightly. Will could feel Jack's piercing gaze drilling into the back of his head. Through the brain matter and skull. Will started to feel queasy...

“Will, I want you to take a minute, and carefully think about what you saw in there,” Jack instructed. His voice calmer then he expected. “A man has been tortured, mutilated and murdered. I need to know why, and I know that you can help me with that part. Is that right, or am I in the wrong here?”

Will was quiet. His eyes were closed again, like an overworked secretary trying to find what he needed in a filing system that had barely survived a hurricane.

“...You said he was a priest?” Will asked after a while and coughed again.

“Yes. Retired since a couple of years back,” Jack said, eying Will carefully.

“The killer knew that,” Will said and rubbed his eyes tiredly. “And no, he's not a satanist. This was punishment designed to mock Mr Greene and his faith. The murderer had to pervert his death into something unholy.”

“Such as turning him into a demon and crucifying him like Jesus Christ,” Jack said.

“That'll do it.” Will glanced back at the bedroom with hazy eyes. “He deserved to die...”

“You mean that the killer thought he deserved to die,” Jack corrected him.

“Yes. Of course,” Will mumbled and scratched his head absentmindedly.

“So have we got ourselves a serial killer targeting Christians then?” Jack asked. “Or is it just retired priests?”

“I don't know... I'm sorry, but I really don't,” Will said with an anguished look. “It feels... Personal. But at the same time, it- It feels unfinished.”

“You mean that he's going to kill again?” Jack asked.

Will leaned his back against a wall with an exasperated sigh. Either he hadn't heard Jacks question, or he felt bold enough to ignore it.

“I need to know how he's choosing them, Will,” Jack said and folded his arms.

“...And I keep telling you that I have no idea,” Will whispered. “I told you. It feels personal.”

“What kind of personal?” Jack asked and put a hand on the same wall that Will was resting on. “Are they related? Did they go to the same school? Same Bible Camp? Were they lovers, was he his dentist... You've gotta give me something to go on here, Graham.”

Will didn't answer. He left the wall, feeling uneasy, and started wandering in the opposite direction. Away from Jack and the horrific murder scene. Will's eyes were moving all over the walls, trying to find something else to focus on. Something distracting. Anything...

He then noticed a painting on the wall opposite to the bedroom. It depicted a crucified devil. It was surrounded by light and gold. A triumphant victory over evil. Will noticed something in the corner of his eye, and noted that there was second painting. Not on the wall, but tucked away behind a plant on the floor, beneath the first one. He walked over to the painting. The one on the floor was dusty, except from a few marks from a pair of hands. Will glanced at the one on the wall. Spotless.

“...Jack?” Will said, his eyes staring at the devil on the wall in an almost hypnotized state.

Jack walked over to him. He observed Will with a wary look, but the younger man didn't look at him. He just kept staring at the picture before him, unable to look away. “...Have you seen this painting?” Will asked him.

Jack followed Will's gaze and his attention was soon on the painting as well. Jack's eyes immediately grew in size and his jaw clenched.

“...Son of a bitch!” Jack said and stormed away from Will's side.

Outside the house, three sassy scientists were in the middle of a heated discussion. Which was needed, since it was February and the weather was sure to remind them all of that.

“I'm not being morbid here!” Zeller said defensively, strongly suggesting the opposite. “If you look at the evidence-”

“It will tell you that it's inconclusive,” Beverly said, and put her hands in her pockets for warmth.

“If you think there's any other way he could have died, then be my guest,” Zeller asked politely, but the underlying sarcasm wasn't lost to anyone. “I'd love to hear your theories.”

“We don't know how he died yet, Zeller,” Beverly sighed. “That's the point. Just because we haven't been allowed to thoroughly examine the body yet doesn't mean that we have to start guessing.”

“No, but it's fun,” Zeller claimed, and tried to warm his hands by rubbing them together. “I need something to distract myself...”

“By claiming that the victim was alive while having his brain drilled to slushie?” Jimmy asked and wrapped his scarf a little tighter around his neck. “Don't you think that's just a little bit...”

“Unsettling,” Beverly finished and gave Zeller a look.

“I'm just calling it early, that's all,” Zeller replied with a shrug.

“It's not a competition,” Beverly pointed out.

“And if it was, you would lose!” Jimmy pointed out, a little too excitedly. “It's much more likely that he simply died from respiratory failure due to the neuromuscular blocking agent. He would have died from hypoxia before the killer was done hammering.”

“Ah, ah! No,way. He must have been alive when the skull was opened,” Zeller said and shook his head. “There was too much blood in that area to come from a hole in a dead guy's head.”

“Two holes, actually,” Jimmy corrected him.

Zeller was just about to reply, but noticed that his colleagues suddenly turned stiff while watching something behind his back. When he turned around, he saw Jack marching up to their spot. Fuming with anger.

“ _Nobody_ looked at the damn painting!?” Jack bellowed.

“What painting?” Jimmy asked obliviously.

Jack stopped in front of them with the look of a parent that was carefully considering what he could get away with legally when it came to disciplining your children. “There is a painting hanging outside the bedroom. It's depicting the crucifixion of a devil. Does that sound at all familiar to any you?”

“Well... To be fair,” Zeller said. “We only examine the actual crime scene, and if that painting was hanging outside-”

“Outside the bedroom,” Jack yelled, making Zeller's face turn a shade paler and take a step behind Beverly. “Go back inside and get that painting to the lab! I want fingerprints. I want to know who made it. Who bought it. If there are dust particles on the frame that belongs to a different house, I want to know which one it is! Do you copy that or do I have to-”

Jack was interrupted by a retching sound somewhere behind him, causing him to turn his head. Will had at some point left the house and followed Jack outside. He was partly hidden by a police car, and hunched over as he vomited in the snow with a pitiful sound.

Before Jack had the time to react, Jimmy had already left the group and hurried over to the other man. Will was dry heaving when Jimmy stopped by his side and squatted next to him. He seemed to be asking Will something. The sick man only shook his head in reply and took a shaky step forward before vomiting again. Jimmy put a hand on Will's back, seemingly unfazed, and patted him comfortingly. He looked behind his shoulder and temporarily left Will to walk over to the police car. Jack raised an eyebrow when he saw the scientist opening the passenger seat.

Jimmy then returned to Will and ushered him to follow him to the car. Will wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his coat and followed Jimmy like an obedient dog. He slowly made his way to the vehicle, coughing sickly. His face looked like it had been drained by every drop of blood.

Jimmy made him sit down in the seat and asked him something else. Will shook his head again. Jack watched how Jimmy kept talking to Will, but he couldn't make out what was being said. After a minute, Jimmy gave Will a pat on the shoulder and ran over to Jack and the others.

“I think Will might be sick,” Jimmy informed dutifully.

“Ya think?” Jack said, but then sighed and started walking over to Will.

Will was slightly hunched over in his car seat. His feet on the snowy ground and his face buried in his hands. Jack stopped in front of him. His own hands in his pockets and sporting an almost pleading expression. “Please tell me you had some bad sushi last night.”

“Well,” he said, and coughed before removing his hands and looked up at his boss. “I caught a trout...”

“I can't have you sick, Will,” Jack told him. “I need to know; Could this be food poisoning?”

The three scientists had followed Jack back to the car, and Jimmy had taken back his spot next to Will. He eyed Will with genuine concern and removed a glove before placing a hand on Will's forehead. The forensic expert observed the unwell man for a moment, and then shook his head. “I'm afraid that's gonna be a hot sizzling no, Jack,” Jimmy said and shot Jack a glance. “That's definitely a fever.”

Will closed his eyes tiredly and his shoulders slumped. He looked like he wished to leave, but wasn't too keen on exiting the car. Beverly pushed past Jack and crouched down in front of Will. She opened one of his eyes with a critical look. “There's redness in his eyes as well,” she concluded professionally. “What causes fever, vomiting, and red eyes?”

Zeller walked up behind Bev to study Will's face up close. “Well, add a runny nose and coughing to the list, and I think we got ourselves a classic old flu,” Zeller stated.

“Can everyone please stop touching me...?” Will asked the handsy trio.

Zeller took a step back with a teasing smile. “You forgot to take your flu shot this season?”

“I'm not in the risk groups,” Will said and rubbed his eye.

“Oh, you're about to be,” Jack said with a subtle glare.

“He should be home in bed, Jack,” Beverly told him.

“I can drive him,” Jimmy said and was just about to head to his car, but was stopped by Jack's arm.

“Not yet,” Jack stated. “Nobody is going home until we know what kind of evidence we can get from that painting first.”

“He doesn't have to be around for that,” Beverly protested and gestured to Will, who was leaning heavily against the door frame of the car. “It could take hours for us to gather any-”

“Wherever that painting goes, I want Will to be nearby,” Jack said severely. “Will said that the murder felt unfinished. Meaning that the killer is going to strike again, but we don't know when it will happen, or who is going to be the next target. This culprit brought a painting to the freaking crime scene for god's sake...! There's got to be something on it that we can use. If you find anything, and I mean anything, I need Will to be there, in the same room, to interpret it. Zeller, go get that painting.”

Zeller sighed in annoyance and headed to one of the cars to get the equipment. Jack turned to Will and put a hand on his head, making Will look up slightly.

“I need you to come with me. Is that alright?” Jack asked and tilted his head with an observant look on Will. “I have a couch in my office, you can get some rest there. I'm sorry about this. If I could spare you, you know I would. But we're on the clock.”

Will closed his eyes and rubbed his face wearily. He coughed once, but managed a nod.

Beverly shot Jack a look. “You're just gonna let him sleep off a flu in your office?”

“If he wants to go home, all he needs to do is tell me,” Jack told her. “He's old enough to say no.”

Beverly and Jimmy looked at each other, implying that Will was as likely to say no to Jack as a Labradore Retriever was to tell its master to fetch the damn stick himself.

“Besides,” Jack continued, ignoring the subtle stares. “If he gets any sicker, the hospital is five minutes away instead of half an hour. He'll be better off at headquarters.”

“My dogs...” Will mumbled.

“I'm sure they can make it without you for one day,” Jack said and offered Will a hand. “I'll have Jimmy check in on them.”

“Oh, dogs do _not_ like me...” Jimmy said sincerely.

“Should I be surprised?” Jack asked with a deadpan look. “Call Alana, she has a spare key.” Jack turned back to Will. “We better get a move on. Come, I'll drive you to headquarters.”

Will didn't say anything but reluctantly took Jack's hand and hoisted himself up from the seat. His pale skin nearly blended in with the snowy surroundings.

“It should take us about 30 minutes to get there,” Jack told him. “Don't feel obliged to talk during the ride, I want you to take the time to rest. I'm redeeming you from any social interaction.”

“Probably for the best,” Will mumbled and tried to suppress another cough “I don't think talking in a moving vehicle is going to agree with my stomach... Plus, I suspect that I wouldn't have made a very good company anyway.”

Jack eyed Will for a moment. He looked rather miserable with his tousled locks of hair and the pale lips, trying inconspicuously to cough in the sleeve of his coat. Jack put a hand on his back and guided him towards his car. He could sense something staring at the back of his neck. When Jack turned around, he saw Beverly watching him with folded arms.

“Don't start with me, Bev,” Jack told her with a raised finger. “I'll make sure to get him in a proper bed as soon as we're done. I just need to borrow him until you find out more about the painting. I promise to return him in the same condition I found him.”

* * *

Will was standing in the middle of a river, water up to his kneecaps. He looked around, taking in his surroundings. His expression was content. There was a lure in his hand which he had just finished attaching to the fishing line. The feathers were red and golden, with some goat hair. It was a new lure that he hadn't tried yet. He was curious to see how it would work out.

He then noticed that the river had suddenly gone deathly silent. Will stopped smiling. The fish which had been playing around him were nowhere to be seen. The insects were gone as well. Even the wind had stopped blowing. Muting the trees. In just a second, everything had fallen unnaturally quiet. Nature strangled to death.

Will turned around and saw something standing further up the stream. A creature. Something that used to be a man, but had been twisted beyond recognition. There were something vile about it. A toxic aura that suffocated everything around it. A rain cloud excreting lethal acid.

Will found himself walking towards it. He could feel the flow of the stream trying to push him back. To make him turn around. Will resisted. He kept walking and didn't stop until he was standing right in front of the thing. The monster looked smaller up close.

The stream went away. There were no longer water at Will's feet. No surrounding forest. No trees.

They were in a church.

Will looked down at his hands. He was holding a wooden hammer in his right hand, and a crude, metal nail in his other. He looked up at the creature before him. Long, curly horns protruded from its forehead. It's skin was deep red, and its eyes dark like an oil spill. It was lying on a large, wooden crucifix. Unmoving.

Will placed the nail on its left palm, the pointy metal touching the red skin. He raised the hammer and struck the head of the nail. Hard. He struck it again. And again. The devil still wasn't moving. Will hammered harder. More fiercely. It had to hurt. He needed it to suffer.

Will was panting and looked at the blood on the floor. Something was dripping from his left hand. Will glanced and noticed a round, open wound in his palm. It was bleeding freely.

Without hesitation, Will picked up another nail and placed it on the devil's right hand. He struck it with the hammer. With every hit, a red sludge started emerging more and more from between Will's fingers. Smearing the hammer with red.

When he was done, his hands and feet were bleeding from gaping wounds, just like the devil. Will dropped the hammer to the stone floor, but it didn't make a sound. Will looked up and saw that the cross had been raised before him. The creature had transformed and no longer looked like the devil.

It looked like Will.

The man on the cross had closed his eyes. He was either sleeping or dead. The Will on the cross had two horns drilled into his forehead. Will could feel the blood trailing down his own face. The horns in his head were pressing against his brain.

The floor was covered in their blood.

Will stared at the crucified body before him. Both their faces were dripping with blood. He watched a drop roll off the other man's hand. He looked down at his own and watched an identical drop of blood hit the floor the exact same moment. Complete symmetry.

Will furrowed his brow and took a step back and looked around. A feeling of dread. He had done everything right, but this wasn't right. Not entirely.

This wasn't just revenge.

This was justice. This was necessary.

… He felt tainted.

He had to pay the price. The ultimate debt. A sacrifice to justify his action.

“My design...” Will whispered. “...Is unfinished.”

Will looked down at his right hand. It was holding a knife. He squeezed it tightly. The metal felt heavy and sharp. Fatal.

Will walked up to the body and put the knife against the other man's neck. He watched him, but he didn't move. Will then slowly removed the knife and placed it on his own neck instead. He took a step back and purposely pressed the blade deeper into his skin. He noticed a line of red liquid emerging from the neck of the crucified body.

Will closed his eyes and with a sudden swift movement, he cut the knife sideways.

* * *

“That 's interesting... Did you check if there was a trial? Alright, thank you so much for calling me back. I've gotta go, but I'll let you know if I need more info.”

Beverly ended the call and pocketed her phone. She then noticed that she had already passed Jack's office. She sighed and hurriedly turned back the same way she came from. Once she reached the familiar glass doors, she stopped and took a peek inside. There was no way to see the couch from her angle. She hesitated for a brief moment but then gently pushed the door open.

She found Will lying on his side in a black leather couch. His jacket was currently serving as an improvised pillow. Someone had taken his shoes off and banished them to a corner of the room. The same someone had also placed a blanket over his body, covering most of it. She could hear a light snoring sound, which indicated that Will was deeply asleep.

Beverly watched the scene for a moment, resisting the urge to haul up her phone again and snap a picture. Her smile faded when she noticed a large, damp spot on Will's shirt. She took a step closer and could distinguish pearls of sweat forming in his face, even rolling off his skin and hitting his jacket. At a closer look, Beverly could tell that Will's shirt was drenched in sweat.

Will turned over on his back, but then immediately turned back on his side again. Still asleep. Beverly hadn't noticed it before, but his breathing was shallow. Every breath he took was short and forced, as if he constantly forgot to breathe.

Beverly crouched next to Will's head. “Don't mind me...” she mumbled and moved away some of the dark curls from his face. She carefully placed the back of her right hand against Will's forehead. He was thankfully lying still, except from the light trembling. As if he was feeling cold.

After almost a minute, Beverly removed her hand and got up from the floor. She eyed Will with a concerned expression.

“Damnit, Jack...”

* * *

Jack glanced down at the corpse lying on the metal slab. The horns were gone now, resting on a tray nearby. Jack looked up at the two scientists. “So did you finally agree on a cause of death, or am I going to have to sign you two up for couple's counseling?”

“Well, we have concluded that he has lost about 2 liters of blood, and his frontal lobe looks like it's been through a meat grinder,” Jimmy answered. “But here's the fun part; none of those things are enough to actually kill a person.”

“Spare me the trivia and just tell me what the autopsy report says,” Jack said.

“Respiratory arrest,” Zeller said, and put his hands in his pockets with a painfully dull expression.

“Most likely caused by a strong neuromuscular blocker,” Jimmy nodded. “It's really difficult to spot. You'd have to be either a genius or a psychic to even guess something like this.

“It was your guess,” Zeller said with a glare.

“Was it?” Jimmy pondered. “I can't really recall...”

“Don't patronize me,” Zeller reprimanded him and turned to Jack. “The drug we found was Anectine. It's commonly used in surgeries as a paralytic, and I'm not sure why I'm telling you this because knowing the brand name won't help us identify the murderer since most of this stuff can be bought illegally online anyway...”

Beverly entered the room and Jack looked up at her arrival “Where have you been up to?”

“Just checking on Will,” Beverly said with a side glance at her boss.

“Oh, how was he?” Jimmy wanted to know.

“I don't think he's getting a lot of sleep,” Beverly answered, without taking her eyes off of Jack.

“I don't think he ever does,” Jack pointed out and turned back to Zeller and Jimmy. “What did you find out about the painting? Have you tested it?”

“Yes, and unsurprisingly, you can't find out someone's home address from dust particles,” Zeller said sarcastically.

“In case you wanted to know that,” Jimmy added. “And even if you could, it wouldn't help since this painting is spotless. Not a grain on the canvas or frame, it's like he licked it clean-”

“Actually, that we would have been able to trace,” Zeller filled in.

“But fret not!” Jimmy said with a triumphant finger to the ceiling. “We've got something better!”

“Well, I wouldn't say 'better', but-”

“But something a little more interesting.”

“You know, on the contrary from plain 'nothing'.”

Jack gave Beverly a look as the two scientists hurried over to another metal slab that was covered with a white sheet. “It's like watching your twins trying to tell you about their day at the same time.”

“If Jimmy's brother starts working here, I will resign,” Beverly answered, dead serious.

“Here,” Zeller said and removed the sheet, revealing the painting underneath. “Looks like an ordinary oil painting, am I right?”

“Z, I've had four hours of sleep, and I'm running on coffee fumes,” Jack stated. “Just give me what you've got.”

“It's blood,” Zeller answered, with a grin that could barely be passed as appropriate.

“Not the whole painting, obviously,” Jimmy clarified. “But that devil in this picture? Not one drop of paint. This thing has a higher percentage of blood in its body than you and me. Funny thing, the average human body only consist of about 7% of blood, while this handsome devil is a whooping-”

“Is it the killer's blood?” Jack asked while studying the painting.

“If you're asking if this is animal, vegetable or mineral, that would be 'animal' for you,” Zeller said with pride. “This blood isn't human.”

“We think it's goat.”

“Jimmy think it's goat.”

“Possibly that goat,” Jimmy said and pointed at the horns.

Jack closed his eyes and rubbed his left temple, trying to imagine that his fuse was a lot longer than it actually was and that it wasn't slowly burning away by the second. “Have you found anything actually useful to the case...?”

The two scientists looked at each other. It was the kind of look you might share with a classmate after the teacher asked if you had finished your group assignment. Beverly stepped in, deciding to give her coworkers a helping hand. “Did you get a hold of the artist yet?” she asked Jack. “Jimmy did find the name for you, didn't he?”

“Never underestimate Google image search,” Jimmy mused, exceptionally proud.

“We've placed an APB on both the artist and the guy who bought the painting on Ebay last year,” Jack told them. “My men is on their way to their respective address as we speak.”

“Well, the artist is the one who painted that creepy thing,” Beverly said and folded her arms. “You really think the buyer could have anything to do with it?”

“I'm not taking any chances,” Jack replied. “And the killer is most likely one of the two.” Jack glared at Zeller and Jimmy. “So it would be nice to have some solid evidence to wave around when we bring them in so that we can actually hold them. Especially since we still don't know how he chooses his victims.”

Beverly hesitated for a second before she spoke. “I might have an idea about that.”

The three men looked at her, their expressions ranging between surprise, doubt and inappropriate interest.

“Oh, do tell,” Jimmy said and excitedly took a seat on an empty slab.

“Wait, so now it's okay to guess?” Zeller asked, with a frown.

“It's not a guess,” Beverly clarified. “I found something about Eugene Greene that could have made him a target for the killer. A possible one at least.”

“What did you find out?” Jack asked.

“I have a friend who works at a local newspaper,” Beverly continued. “I asked her to dig up some info about Mr Greene. She just called me and said that he moved here 22 years ago, immediately after he retired. She thought it was odd for a priest to retire so prematurely, so she kept digging in his past.” Beverly glanced at the clock. “Long story short, Mr Greene had gotten himself a rumor that he couldn't shake off, so he left both his hometown and profession behind to start a new life here.”

“Okay... I don't see how that would make him a target for a serial killer though?” Zeller said.

“What kind of rumor?” Jimmy asked with a raised eyebrow.

“The one that won't land you any babysitter jobs,” Beverly answered gravely.

There was a moment of silence. ...Then the silence turned uncomfortable.

“...So that kind of rumor then,” Zeller said with a blank look.

“And for a priest... Those kinds of things stick,” Beverly said. “Whether they're true or not.”

“Were they though?” Jimmy asked.

Beverly shrugged. “Who knows. There was no trial. He just retired, and moved here. And who can blame him? I'd probably do the same if people started whispering 'pedophile' when passing them on the street.”

There was a sudden polite knock on the glass door. Jack smiled when he saw the visitor and walked over to let him inside.

“You really don't keep people waiting, do you, Dr Lecter?” Jack said and shook his hand before gesturing him inside.

“I had no reason to delay it,” Hannibal said with smile of his own. “The time I don't reserve for patients, I distribute however I want. What better way to devote it than assisting the FBI?”

“Here for the art exhibition?” Jimmy asked with a nod to the painting.

“I called Dr Lecter and asked him to consult on the case,” Jack told them.

“You don't trust Will?” Beverly asked with a frown.

“I don't know if I can trust Will. At least for the time being. So I asked for a second opinion,” Jack explained. “We have two possibly suspects. The faster we narrow that down to one, the better.”

“Are anyone of those suspects an artist?”

Jack turned around and noticed that Hannibal unnoticed had made his way over to the painting. His eyes were moving all over the canvas, like a cat watching a bird in a cage. Intrigued, yet restrained.

“Yes, as a matter of fact,” Jack said and put his hands in his pockets. “Are you saying that this murder was done by an artist?”

“My opinion is that this murder could have been done by an artist.”

“And what makes you believe that?”

Hannibal didn't answer immediately. He put a finger on the canvas, right on the chest of the devil. He slowly stroke the area and then raised his finger to his nose. His expression did not change, except for a barely visible muscle twitching in the corner of his eye.

“I once visited an art gallery in Toulouse,” Hannibal said and took a step back from the painting. He glanced at the corpse. “I remember seeing an exquisite painting of Shakespeare's a Midsummer Night's Dream. Act 4, scene 1, where Puck removes the ass's head from a sleeping Bottom. The fairies in the painting are seen playing music, and my attention was drawn to a peculiar flute. Its design stood out from the rest of the instruments. I thought no more of it until I reached another section of the gallery where that very flute was on display on a podium.”

Hannibal kept observing the dead body. His eyes moved from the gaping flesh wounds in its hands and feet, to the gruesome holes in its forehead. He then looked at the horns lying on the tray nearby. His expression was impossible to describe. “A piece of the painting had materialized in the real world and was now part of it,” he continued. “And thus bringing the motif of the canvas closer to reality as well. Your killer could be an artist, and this murder is his art installation.”

“Well, it's the only motive we've got so far,” Jack said and had barely finished his sentence before his phone started ringing. “Excuse me for a second.”

Jack relocated himself to a more private part of the room, leaving the doctor and the scientists alone.

“So is our standing theory that there's a killer artist out there murdering pedophiles by making them look like his paintings, or did I miss something?” Zeller asked.

“Making the world a better place and more cultivated,” Jimmy mused with a nod. “I'm not sure I wanna catch this guy.”

“Makes you wanna check out his other works too, huh?” Zeller grinned.

“Except that Mr Greene was never convicted or even charged for that crime,” Beverly pointed out. “It was just a rumor. And if that's all it takes, I'm sure ain't gonna sleep tonight.”

“...Good point,” Jimmy said with an uncomfortable look.

The awkward silence allowed them all to hear Jack ending his call and rejoin the group, but his expression had changed. “I've just spoken with the PD. There has been another death,” Jack told them. “A suicide.”

“...And why would the local PD call you about a random suicide?” Beverly asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Because their captain thought I might want to know about it,” Jack continued. “Since we had put an APB on the victim just this morning.”

The room was immediately filled with the sound of several people that stopped breathing. Jimmy was the first one to break the silence. “Which one?” he asked.

Jack looked at him. “John Bonner. The artist.”

“Not to be that guy, but... Are they sure it's a 'suicide'?” Zeller asked. “This could be part of the killer's big art 'installation' or whatever.”

“The body wasn't mutilated,” Jack said and shook his head. “They also found medication for MS in his apartment as well as antidepressants, and they've had it confirmed by his doctor that he was clinically depressed. They have no doubts that this was suicide. And you can never guess what forensics found in his apartment.”

“Please say goat blood, please say goat blood...” Jimmy pleaded.

“I don't wanna sound 'morbid', but... Yeah. What he said,” Zeller concurred.

Jack gave them both an unforgiving look. “They found chalk. On his hands, under his nails, traces on his clothes... Same that was used to draw the cross in Mr Greene's bedroom.”

Jimmy and Zeller looked at each other and made an 'Ooooh'-ing sound. Beverly shook her head and turned to Jack. “So, that's it? I can sleep at night now?”

“Seems like it,” Jack said with a shrug. “The question is how John Bonner got hold of his painting, but he could just have bought it back or simply stolen it from his buyer. We'll know more when we get hold of the guy who bought it.”

“Oh, if it was stolen then he's definitely gonna want it back,” Jimmy said and patted the painting's frame affectionately. “This mister is going to be worth a whole lot when this story hits the media.”

“The captain also told me that John Bonner moved here only a couple of months ago,” Jack added. “What's interesting is that almost none of the moving boxes were opened.”

“So he could have had a personal grudge against Mr Greene,” Beverly said. “And moved here for this very reason. To kill him, and then take his own life.”

“Possibly. Will said that the murder felt personal,” Jack said. “John Bonner couldn't cope with his diagnosis so he decides to end his life and bringing Mr Greene with him. To give meaning to his death.”

Hannibal had not made a sound for several minutes. It was hard to say if he was even breathing. When he turned to Jack, his eyes were as sharp as darts, but his voice very calm. “Where is Will?”

“On sick leave. In my office,” Jack said bluntly. “He has managed to catch the flu, so I'm letting him borrow my couch to sleep it off.” Jack glanced at his wrist watch. “Might just as well drive him home now. Doesn't seem like we have to worry about another victim.”

“I'll come with you,” Hannibal said, not even attempting to phrase it as a question.

* * *

The reflection in the many glass doors almost gave the illusion of a small army of well tailored men passing through the corridor, instead of just one FBI-agent and a psychiatrist. “How sick is Will?” Hannibal inquired.

“Like dog. And I say that unironically,” was Jack's answer.

“Nausea?”

“Let's just say that none of us enjoyed the car ride over here,” Jack said with a stale smile. “I'm just glad that he fell asleep fairly quickly. But not as glad as my car's interiors...”

Hannibal nodded. “Is he experiencing any fever?”

Jack stopped for a moment and looked at Hannibal. “Should I be worried?”

“I always worry about Will,” Hannibal answered in a casual manner. “It's the burden, as well as the privilege of being his friend and his doctor.” He gave Jack a look. “You don't worry about him?”

“Beverly doesn't think I worry enough,” Jack answered. “But a doctor like yourself would probably argue that I worry too much, and that it's compromising my digestive system...”

Hannibal smiled. “Will is a very special case. From our sessions I learn so much about him, yet I know so little.”

“Well, our Will is unique,” Jack said with a smile of his own and started walking again.

“Yes. He is,” Hannibal agreed, his demeanor only changing slightly. “I find it interesting that you rely so heavily on Will's ability to understand the mind of the murderers you're hunting, but you do not know how his own mind works.”

“That's your job, doctor,” Jack chuckled. “I don't even know how my phone works, even though I use it on a daily basis.”

“And thus when it breaks, you can't repair it,” Hannibal said, his eyes simmering like melted steel.  
“You simply get a new one.”

Jack studied Hannibal quietly. “Am I sensing some hostility here?”

“Not at all, Jack,” Hannibal answered with a similar chuckle. “I'm merely stating that if you have something that you describe as unique, you are wise to take very good care of it.”

“I can assure you, doctor Lecter, that Will is being well taken cared of,” Jack replied and pushed open the door to his office.

The two men had barely entered the room when Jack suddenly froze on the spot. The couch was empty. And not surprisingly, so was the rest of the office. Jack stared at the couch in a way that during different circumstances would almost be comical.

“Beverly checked on him only 20 minutes ago,” Jack said in disbelief.

Hannibal walked inside the room and eyed the couch. The blanket and jacket were left in an untidy pile. He then glanced at the corner of the room. Will's shoes were still there.

“Has Will told you that he has been sleepwalking?” Hannibal asked.

Jack turned to the other man with eyes that was screaming of opinion. “...Since when?!”

“Since recently,” Hannibal answered. “ I'm afraid I cannot reveal the circumstances that triggered it. Unless of course Will chooses to share them himself.”

“Because of Doctor-Patient confidentiality?” Jack asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Because he is my friend,” Hannibal said honestly and looked up at Jack.

“Fine...” Jack sighed. “Just tell me this. Could it be dangerous?”

Hannibal walked up to the couch and picked up the blanket. Part of it was still damp. He did not need to sniff it to know where the spots came from.

“Will already has a very vivid imagination,” Hannibal explained. “That, together with his empathy disorder, is why he so easily can make himself imagine doing the horrific crimes you expose him to. I'm concerned whether a fever could blurry that line between dream and reality even further.”

“Is that a yes or no?” Jack wanted to know.

“I'd say that depends entirely on what's going on in Will's head at the moment,” Hannibal answered.

“Well, he can't have gone far,” Jack said and scratched his neck. “I'll check the other corridor. If we split up, one of us are bound to run into him eventually.”

Hannibal silently put down the now neatly folded blanket on the couch and eyed Will's jacket. He picked it up from it's designated place as a pillow and studied it closer.

“Jack,” Hannibal said.

Jack stopped right outside and looked back at the doctor. “What?”

“How did John Bonner take his life?”

“He broke his neck by jumping off a bridge,” Jack answered factually. “Why do you ask?”

“Is there a way to access the roof of this building?”

Jack didn't say anything. He stared at Hannibal, one hand still on the door. “...I don't like what you're implying, doctor.”

“Neither do I,” Hannibal said and took the jacket with him. “Show me the way.”

* * *

Will was gazing at the line where the pink sky was cut off by the concrete city. His eyes were staring straight ahead, but without seeing. His bare feet stood firmly at the very edge of the roof while his body was swaying slightly in the wind.

The door to the roof slammed open and Jack Crawford barged out. He stopped immediately and stared at the man 30 feet in front of him.

“Shit...!” Jack cursed, but was stopped in his tracks by a strong hand grabbing his arm. Jack turned his head and saw Hannibal standing right behind him. Holding Jack's arm in a vice grip.

“Jack, wait,” Hannibal said.

Jack glared at him. “You better give me a hell of a good reason, or immediately let go of my arm, doctor.”

Hannibal looked at Jack with eyes that were drilling into his skull. Jack didn't even try to move.

“He hasn't jumped yet,” Hannibal eventually said. “It would be careless to accidentally sever the one thread that is keeping his feet on the ground, would it not?”

“He could jump any second!” Jack said and pointed at Will with his free arm.

“He very well could.”

Jack stared at the doctor and then glanced at Will before looking back at Hannibal. “Then what do you suggest we do, doctor?”

Hannibal hesitated. As if he had an idea, but wasn't sure if his company would agree with it. He then looked up at Jack. “Let me talk to him.”

Jack observed Hannibal in silence. “Have you ever talked down a jumper before, doc?”

Hannibal pondered for a moment. “I once convinced a patient to not set his home on fire.”

“And he listened to you?”

“I have a very calming effect on people,” Hannibal answered. He let go of Jack's arm and handed him Will's jacket before heading towards the ledge.

“Do you need me?” Jack asked.

Hannibal turned to Jack with a smile. “I think Will needs his therapist.”

Jack watched Hannibal turn his back to him and walk towards Will. Jack hesitated but then started following him, making sure to keep his distance.

Hannibal approached Will slowly, like someone attempting to catch a wild animal. Treading carefully, one step at the time, as to not frighten it. He stopped just an arm's length away from him, studying the other man quietly.

“Hello, Will,” Hannibal said in a tranquil voice.

Will didn't reply. His eyes looked strangely hazy. Unaware. Hannibal kept observing him with a curious look. “Will?” Hannibal asked again. “Can you hear me?”

If Will did hear Hannibal, he showed no signs of it. He was looking down at the dangerous traffic below, swaying slightly where he stood. Hannibal glanced at the street himself. He then turned to his dazed company. Watching his every muscles move. His limbs twitching. Each motion were analyzed and recorded in his mind.

“Will, I want you to come with me,” Hannibal said.

“I can't,” Will replied in a low voice and weakly shook his head.

Hannibal blinked. He eyed Will for a moment. “And why is that?”

Will didn't answer immediately. He looked up, staring dead ahead of himself again. “...It's not finished.”

His voice was only a raspy whisper. Hannibal remained silent while studying his friend closely. “Tell me what's not finished, Will.”

“I... transformed him,” Will explained. His eyes were teary and his breathing were strained. “I did it... so that everyone would see...”

“See what?”

“...see what he was,” Will said in a low voice.

“A monster,” Hannibal stated.

“A demon...” Will mumbled.

“He deserved to die,” Hannibal said and tilted his head curiously. “Is that why you killed Eugene Greene?”

Will closed his eyes tightly. “... I sent him back.”

Hannibal noticed that Will was shivering. The fact that he was standing on a roof in February without a jacket or shoes was probably a contributing factor, but perhaps not the only one.

“You sent him to Hell,” Hannibal concluded. “You had to make him look like he belonged there to justify killing him.”

“He did belong there...” Will said with a sad look.

“But you don't,” Hannibal said seriously and took one step closer to Will.

Will remained quiet. His hands were trembling. “I am...” Will said, his voice muffled. “...tainted.”

“You are not tainted to me.”

Will looked up at the sky. It was a beautiful hue of pink. The sun setting lower and lower in the horizon. Will swallowed, something wet trailing down his cheek. “I... I have to finish this.”

Will moved his right foot closer to the edge. Hannibal quickly reached out his hand towards him. “Will, I want you to take my hand.”

But Will didn't even look at the doctor. His eyes were as far away as his mind.

“These thoughts are not your own,” Hannibal told him. “You are not John Bonner. You are not required to finish his work. Do you understand?”

Will lifted his foot. The only thing separating it from the street below was air. One second was all it would take. One second of life, and then no more.

“Stop.”

Hannibal's voice was steel. Unyielding. Liquid frozen to solid ice in the blink of an eye. Cold and sharp. Disobeying was not even an option.

Will immediately stopped, like a trained puppy. He slowly put down his foot, his eyes were half closed, almost as in trance.

Hannibal checked his wrist watch. “You are Will Graham,” he informed casually. “It's 6:20 PM. You're in the FBI headquarters Virginia.”

Will blinked a couple of time and furrowed his brow.

“You are Will Graham,” Hannibal repeated and took a step closer. Ha was standing right next to Will now. “It's 6:20 PM. You're at the FBI headquarters in Virgina.”

Will looked around, his eyes dim and disoriented.

“Your name is Will Graham,” Hannibal continued while studying Will's face. “It's 6:20, and you're in the FBI headquarters in Virginia.” He watched Will quietly. “Do you know who I am?”

The air was vibrating with silence. Will turned his head slightly towards Hannibal. His eyes unclear and foggy.

“...Dr Lecter?” Will asked. His voice barely audible.

Will took a disoriented step to the side, but Hannibal instantly grabbed his arm before he could put down his foot. Hannibal's grip was tight as a metal trap. His fingers bruising the pale skin underneath the fabric. Securing Will to the ground like a steel beam.

Will's eyes suddenly shot awake and he looked around in bewilderment before noticing the street hundreds of feet below him. His body instantly went rigid, recoiling from the sight, but Hannibal kept his arms in a dead man's grip, not allowing him to move. Will's eyes grew by the second, leaking with terror as he was unable to look away from the ground below.

“Will, take a step back for me,” Hannibal instructed, while still holding Will's arm like a lifeline. “Carefully. I won't let you fall.”

Will was shaking like leaf, but he obeyed and stepped down from the ledge. Once he was safe on the ground, Jack rushed over to them both, with Will's jacket balled up under his arm.

Hannibal immediately gripped Will's face, checking his pupils with a stern expression. “Tell me your name, please.”

Will swallowed, his body still trembling. “M-My name is Will Graham. I'm at the FBI, and...” Will glanced at his wrist. “...and I don't have a watch.”

Hannibal smiled and gave him a pat on the cheek before letting go of his friend. “Good. Very good.”

Jack handed Hannibal the jacket and the doctor proceeded by wrapping it around Will's shivering body. Will didn't acknowledge it, and the clothing remained hanging loosely around his shoulders. He seemed shell shocked. Hannibal watched him quietly and then put a hand on Will's back and the other on his chin, making him look at him. “Do you remember how you got here?”

“Jack. He... He drove me here from the crime scene,” Will said, trying to recall the previous events in his muddled brain. His voice was still shaky. “I-I think I've been asleep-” Will turned his head to the ledge and stared at the traffic below. “...Can somebody please tell me what I'm doing on the roof?”

Jack slowly turned a deadpan look at Hannibal. His eyes far from amused. “Are you done here so that I may yell at him?”

Hannibal didn't answer. His eyes seemed to be analyzing Will. Like a person reading a crossword puzzle. He then promptly moved his hand to Will's forehead instead. Will sighed wearily and subconsciously leaned against the doctor's hand with closed eyes. Hannibal eyed him curiously. “Are you feeling tired, Will?”

“Your hand is cold,” Will mumbled.

Hannibal looked up at Jack. “His temperature is very high. He should be in bed.”

“We tried that,” Jack said sarcastically. “Though I suppose that we always could cuff him to a door.”

“I feel awful...” Will muttered.

“You look awful,” Jack stated. “Doctor Lecter told me that you've been sleepwalking lately. Is that true?”

“Excuse me for a sec...” Will said in a low voice and removed himself from Hannibal. He took a couple of unsteady steps away from the group while wrapping his arms around his chest. Jack watched him with a blank expression.

“And where do you think you're going?” Jack asked chilly.

“I'm not going anywhere,” Will said and swallowed repeatedly. “I just... I need to...”

Hannibal examined Will with his eyes. He noticed that Will's lips had turned paler and his eyes were brimming with something similar to panic. “Will?” He said with a look at his friend. “How are you feeling?”

Will took a couple of stumbling steps and then hunched over. The jacket over his shoulders slipped down slightly over his head. It shielded part of his face from view, but didn't hide the unmistakable sound of vomiting.

Jack and Hannibal shared a look and hurried over to him. Hannibal pulled back the jacket a bit and placed a hand on Will's spine as the younger man retched. His stomach content mostly consisting of bile. Will slowly got up and spit on the ground to get rid of the vile taste in his mouth.

“Is that all?” Hannibal asked.

Will nodded and wiped his mouth with the loose sleeve of his jacket. Every breath he took sounded like it belonged to a much larger animal. Heavy. Strained.

Jack walked up to him and put a hand on Will's quivering shoulder. He looked him straight in the eyes. “How stable are you at the moment?” Jack asked seriously. “Mentally. I need a number.”

“Maybe a 6...?” Will answered and rubbed his face tiredly.

“Good enough...” Jack decided. “I've got good news and bad news, depending on how you look at it. The good news are that we just got a call from the local PD. We know who killed Eugene Greene.”

“Great,” Will said, but didn't seem to register what Jack said. His hands were still trembling.

“His name is John Bonner. The same person who painted the painting,” Jack continued and paused for a second. “The bad news are that he's dead.”

This made Will looked up at Jack. His eyes were bleary and slightly unfocused. “H-How did he-”

“Suicide,” Jack answered and studied Will carefully. “But you already knew that, didn't you?”

Will dragged a hand through his messy hair. “I had an inkling...”

“Well, next time, feel free to share them with me,” Jack said and patted him on the shoulder.

“What difference would it have made...” Will muttered and glanced at the ledge where he had previously stood. The sky was getting darker. As the day slowly succumbed to the night.

* * *

Will was lying on Jack's leather couch again. His arms folded and the gray blanket covering his legs and lower body. He snored slightly but then suddenly made a quick inhale, causing him to jerk awake and stare around the room in brief panic. After a moment of terror, he recognized the office.

He sighed and lied down heavily on the couch. One arm slumped over the edge and the other dragging through his hair. His eyelids started to flicker and he nodded off once more.

It only took a minute before he stirred awake again. His face was glistening with sweat. Will placed his hand on his forehead with a dazed expression. Feeling the warmth of his clammy skin. He weakly kicked off the hot blanket and sat up. The pale skin made him look almost as sick as he felt.

With some difficulty, he managed to get up on his feet. He moved like a corpse towards the glass door and put a hand on the handle, only to find that it was locked. He blinked in confusion before his muddled mind pieced together why.

“Probably shouldn't leave without telling someone...” Will muttered tiredly. “Or leaving a note.”

Will was getting paler by the minute. He looked around the office and noticed a paper bin by the desk. He picked it up and sat down on the floor. Far away from the hot, sticky couch and the suffocating blanket. He lied down on his back with a sigh while holding on to the paper bin with both hands. Will closed his eyes and took a deep breath before exhaling slowly. Calming his stomach. The cold floor felt soothing.

There was a clicking noise as someone unlocked the door and entered the room. Hannibal stopped when he saw Will on the floor and studied him for a moment. “Are you alright, Will?”

“Nausea,” Will mumbled.

Hannibal nodded and crouched next to him. “You shouldn't be lying on the floor.”

“Why? You think I'll get sick...?” Will asked, his eyes still closed.

Hannibal smiled. “I've spoken with Jack.” His voice was casual but his eyes were analyzing everything from Will's complexion to his breathing. “I suggested that you should stay at my place tonight. We both agreed that considering what happened today, it would be unwise to leave you to your own devices.”

Will chuckled. “Are you saying that as my psychiatrist or as my friend?”

“As your concerned friend,” Hannibal answered simply. “And _very_ concerned psychiatrist.”

Will slowly sat up from the floor and rubbed his face. “I've been sick before...”

“Not while doing this kind of work,” Hannibal told him, noticing the pearls of sweat protruding from Will's hairline. “You're already putting your health at stake when helping Jack. Both physically and mentally.”

“Jack didn't give me the flu,” Will said weakly.

“Jack gave you an open wound,” Hannibal said and without warning placed a hand on Will's forehead again. “The fever could only compromise you the way it did due to the damage Jack had already done. Like bacteria infiltrating the body through a cut.”

Hannibal removed his hand and looked Will in the eyes. “With that in mind, what happened on that roof is not that surprising.”

“Sleepwalking and thinking I've murdered somebody...?” Will asked with a raised eyebrow.

“You said yourself that doing this job was bad for you,” Hannibal pointed out casually and got up from the floor, offering Will a hand.

“I know, I know...” Will said in a low voice and allowed Hannibal to help him up.

“You'll be safe with me,” Hannibal said and pulled out a handkerchief from a pocket in his suit. “And it might please you to hear that our dear Jack seems to be suffering from a guilty conscience.”

Hannibal offered the piece of fabric to Will who accepted it with a chuckle. “About my existential meltdown on the roof of FBI? What makes you think that?”

“Because he originally offered to let you stay with him,” Hannibal answered.

Will looked at Hannibal in silence for a moment. “Really?”

“I told him that you wouldn't want to impose on him and his wife,” Hannibal said and fetched Will's shoes, which once again had been banished to the corner of the room. “He reluctantly agreed that my home would be better suited.”

“And why is that?” Will asked and used the handkerchief to dab his sweaty face.

“Because I wouldn't mind you imposing,” Hannibal said with a smile and picked up Will's Jacket from the couch before handing over the items to their rightful owner. “I also live alone and would appreciate some good company.”

“I'm not sure if 'good company' applies to me at the moment,” Will said and pocketed the handkerchief before taking his jacket from Hannibal.

Hannibal smiled. “I want you to focus on your recovery, Will,” he said and gave Will his shoes. “You shouldn't feel any obligation to entertain me.”

“Thank you,” Will said and started putting on his shoes. “I appreciate it.”

“Good. I'll get the car,” Hannibal said and exited the room. “Meet me at the entrance.”

“I should probably warn you that I seem to recently have developed a habit of falling asleep in moving vehicles,” Will pointed out.

“Resting is good,” Hannibal said. “In your condition, I would not only recommend it, but prefer it.”

“Doesn't seem very polite, though,” Will admitted with a rueful smile.

“As it so happens,” Hannibal said and opened the door for Will. “I have a habit of driving in silence.”

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Part of me would love to follow up what happens at Lecter's house after this.  
> But, if I don't, I hope you've at least enjoyed this short-ish story!


End file.
